


crimson headache, aching blush

by pageleaf



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Bottom Victor Nikiforov, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Future Fic, M/M, Multi, Phone Sex, Polyamory, Pre-OT3, Sex Pollen, Top Yuri Plisetsky, Unsafe Sex, sexual crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-11-30 00:31:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11452266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pageleaf/pseuds/pageleaf
Summary: Viktor scowls at him—an actual, angry,sincereexpression. It stops Yuri in his tracks. "Forget about that," he says. "I need your help."Yuri crosses his arms. "With what?"Viktor hesitates. "I...someone sprayed me, with something. Earlier."Yuri's hands drop to his sides. "What?"Sighing, Viktor runs a hand through his hair. "I got sex-pollen-ed, Yura."





	crimson headache, aching blush

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Farasha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Farasha/gifts).



> for Farasha, who mentioned wanting Yuri (and Yuuri) topping Viktor. this was in part inspired by your incredible yuuri/yuri sex pollen fic, so i really hope you enjoy! :)
> 
> note: the dubcon tag is because of the sex pollen trope, so technically neither character is consenting free of impairment/coercion
> 
> titled from halsey's "heaven in hiding"

The first Nationals after Viktor officially retired, all anyone could talk about was how he wasn't there, how much the crowd was missing him, and would the championship even be interesting at all, without him? Yuri spent the entire time boiling with anger and frustration, up to and including when he was standing on top of the podium, clutching his gold medal in his fist. He caught the medal ceremony on youtube later, watched his own grimace-smile, heard the commentators say, "Maybe one day he'll be as good as Nikiforov, even."

Maybe. One day.

He'd only refrained from smashing his phone because he'd just broken his last a few months ago.

Now, it's a year later, and everyone _should_ be over it by now. They've had the entire season to build new, non-Nikiforov-centric narratives. And other than a few nostalgic mentions here and there, the skating world's risen to the occasion. They've embraced the rising stars of Altin, Chulanont, de la Iglesia—and, of course, Plisetsky.

Only then Viktor has to show up, anyway.

"Why are you _here_ ," Yuri hisses, tearing Viktor's arm from around Yuri's shoulders.

Viktor pouts. "Maybe I wanted to come support you, hm? You might not have let me choreograph for you, but—"

Yuri scoffs. "Don't lie, old man. Everyone knows you just like the attention."

Smiling enigmatically, Viktor slides his sunglasses back on.

 

So of course, Viktor's all anyone talks about this time around, too. He hangs around the corridor while everyone's warming up, chatting up skaters and coaches in equal measure. Yakov takes one look at him and heads in the other direction, which Yuri finds gratifying, but the younger kids—among which Yuri adamantly does _not_ count himself—won't leave him alone. Yuri does his stretches and watches as they surround him in a tiny, agitated gaggle, jostling for selfies and autographs and last minute advice for their short programs.

Viktor has personalized comments for everyone, like he's paid careful attention to every single one of their individual careers. Yuri knows better: Viktor's been in the game long enough that he can guess at someone's life story just by analyzing their costumes, their posture, the visibility of their nerves. It's one of the few truly kind things he does, making everyone feel special.

"Yuuuura," Viktor sings, when he spies Yuri watching. "Don't you want some advice from me, too?"

Yuri narrows his eyes and crosses his arms. "Why would I need advice from an old man whose record I've already beat?"

Viktor's smile goes dazzling, like fresh snow, and just as cold. One of the infants gasps.

"Vitya!" Ah, Yakov's back. "Just because you're useless now, doesn't mean you can distract everyone from their jobs." Yakov glares, and the gaggle of over-excited schoolchildren morphs back into a group of professional athletes. They go hastily to their corners and continue warming up, while Viktor waves goodbye cheerfully.

"Yakov," he says. "Miss me?"

"Why aren't you with Katsuki?" Yakov demands in response. "I forgot how unbearable you are without that boy around."

Yuri snorts and puts his headphones in, tuning them out.

 

He finishes his short program in the lead, which he'd expected. With Viktor and Georgi both retired, Yuri's the unchallenged best. After the day's done, Viktor corners him outside the arena.

"Yura!" he says, taking hold of Yuri's elbow. "Let me buy you dinner?"

Yuri stares him down and bends back his pinky until Viktor yanks his hand away, clutching it to his chest with a wounded look. "No, thanks." He shoulders his bag and pushes past Viktor, who stands stock-still for a moment before whirling around.

"You know," Viktor calls after him, and the tone of his voice makes Yuri turn to look at him. It's too sweet, too brittle. "You know," he says, "most people would kill to have dinner with me."

It's a stupid, narcissistic thing to say, and despite how egotistical the bastard is, it's uncharacteristic of him to be so obvious about it. There's clearly something up with him.

Yuri could ask. Or he could just poke at it until Viktor breaks and tells him.

"I've had enough meals with you," Yuri says lazily. "The novelty wore off when I was fourteen."

Viktor stares at him until Yuri turns the corner and loses sight of him.

 

The next day, Yuri runs into Viktor at breakfast; apparently he's staying at the same hotel as all the athletes.

"You really miss being relevant, huh," Yuri says, elbowing him out of the way so he can get some coffee.

Viktor stumbles a little—maybe Yuri had elbowed a little harder than necessary—and smiles at him. It almost looks sincere. "I thought I should keep an eye on you."

Yuri rolls his eyes. "Not this again." It wasn't even funny the first time. He walks away and loads up a plate, sitting down at the first empty table he finds. Viktor, predictably, follows him.

Yuri sighs. "Why are you here, Viktor?"

Viktor tilts his head quizzically. "I'm eating breakfast?"

Yuri narrows his eyes and takes a sip of coffee. He waits.

"I told you," Viktor says, "I'm here to see—"

"Don't lie," Yuri snaps. "There's no logical reason you'd be in Russia instead of Japan with your husband. Explain."

Viktor just smiles at him. "I'm not lying. Yuuri's got pretty much his whole family with him, anyway. He won't be alone, not like—ah."

_Not like you_.

Yuri swallows his bacon. "Who told you?"

Viktor's face is unreadable. "Your grandpa called me. Said he was in the hospital, something about his knee?"

"He'll be out in a couple days," Yuri says, louder than he means to, "he's going to be fine. You don't need to—"

"No, I know, he told me," Viktor says. "I just. Neither of us wanted." He grimaces. "Shit," he says, under his breath. "I'm fucking this up."

"I'm not a child," Yuri hisses through his teeth, anger bubbling up inside of him. "I've been happily alone most of my life, and I don't need your pity, and I _definitely_ don't need you to take care of me, so you can just fuck right off." He drains the rest of his coffee and slams the empty mug on the table, ignoring the looks of the skaters eating at the next table. He snatches up his plate. "I'll finish eating in my room."

It's petty, and dramatic, and exactly the kind of thing Yuri would've done three years ago. He guesses Viktor just brings that out in him.

 

But Viktor, being the asshole he is, just won't fucking give up.

"Yura," he sings, wrapping both arms around Yuri's waist while Yuri's giving an interview, "I'm so _proud_ of you!"

"Get off me, asshole," Yuri snarls, but he doesn't bother trying to remove him—mostly because he doesn't want to get in a scuffle in front of the cameras and humiliate himself. Viktor fights dirty; Yuri has a scar to prove it.

Viktor squeezes his middle and then steps back, slinging his arm around Yuri's shoulders instead. "Hi!" he says, to the stunned reporters in front of him. _Honestly, you'd think they'd be used to this by now._ "Want to ask me anything while I'm here?"

The girl in the front gets there first, an eager glint in her eyes. "It's been said you offered to choreograph Yuri's short program this season, but he turned you down. Why?"

Viktor's hand tightens on Yuri's shoulder. He smiles genially. "Why are you asking me that?"

"They already asked me," Yuri says flatly, and the girl blanches, "and I told them it was because I didn't need you."

"I suppose they didn't believe you," Viktor murmurs into his ear.

Yuri flinches and then shoves him away. "I think we're done here." He picks up his jacket from the nearby bench and puts it on. "I've got a party to get to that's expecting me," he gestures to the gold medal around his neck, "and this."

He leaves Viktor taking selfies with a group of fans. He grabs his bag from Yakov, puts his headphones in and his hood up, and leaves.

 

Yuri lied: he's not going to any party, even though they did ask for him to come. Instead, he goes up to his hotel room and bolts the door so Yakov—who has the only other key—can't bother him. He drops his medal in his bag, and sends a text to his grandpa— _Missed you. Will be by tomorrow._ —before turning his phone off and putting it inside the nightstand.

Then he takes a long, scalding hot shower.

After drying off in the steam-filled bathroom, Yuri throws the towel angrily on the floor. "Stupid fucking Viktor," he says, but it comes out more tired than anything else. Viktor's such a forgetful asshole, in so many ways. If only he'd just forget about Yuri, too.

 

There's a pounding on his door. Yuri groans and rolls over onto his side, away from the sound. He feels like he's just fallen asleep, but he can tell from the stillness of the air that it's the middle of the night, maybe even early morning. Maybe if he doesn't respond, whoever it is will go away?

Pounding again, more urgent.

"Who the fuck," Yuri yells, and is too irritated to finish his sentence.

"It's me," Viktor calls in response.

Yuri stares at the wall in sleep-fogged disbelief. "Go away," he says. "I'm sleeping."

"Yuri," Viktor says, tense. "Open the damn door."

Yuri clenches his jaw and gets out of bed, stomping over to the door and throwing it open. " _What_."

Viktor stares at him, glassy-eyed, leaning heavily against the doorjamb. His face is flushed, and there's sweat beading at his forehead and neck, and he looks, in general, like a mess.

"What's wrong with you," Yuri asks, belligerent. "Are you drunk?"

"Why haven't you been answering your phone?" Viktor demands. His eyes look too bright, and grudgingly, Yuri starts to worry.

"Is someone dead?"

"What?" Viktor shakes his head. "No. It's just—me."

"Just you," Yuri says, deadpan. "Just you, not knowing how to let something go. I told you, old man, I don't need you to take care of me."

Viktor scowls at him—an actual, angry, _sincere_ expression. It stops Yuri in his tracks. "Forget about that," he says. "I need your help."

Yuri crosses his arms. "With what?"

Viktor hesitates. "I...someone sprayed me, with something. Earlier."

Yuri's hands drop to his sides. " _What_?"

Sighing, Viktor runs a hand through his hair. "I got sex-pollen-ed, Yura," he says, rueful. Embarassed, as he fucking _should be_.

"Get in here," Yuri hisses, grabbing Viktor by the arm and hauling him into the room. He slams the door shut behind them. "Are you kidding?"

"Do I look like I'm kidding?" Viktor asks, dry. He's sweating through the thin material of his dress shirt, which is half-untucked, the sleeves rolled up messily to his forearms.

"Where's your jacket?" Yuri asks, distracted.

Viktor blinks at him. "I—I don't know," he says, lost, and that's when Yuri believes him.

"You idiot," he snarls. "You've been retired for barely two years, and you've already forgotten how to be careful?"

"It was so sudden," Viktor protests. "While I was taking a selfie with those girls, I think. Maybe it was someone who walked by while I was distracted? I don't know."

Yuri feels an unwelcome jolt of guilt. He'd only just been leaving when it happened. Maybe if he'd stayed a second longer...

He shakes his head. "What do you want me to do about it?"

Viktor rubs his face with his hand, leaning back against the door wearily. "It'll last for at least twenty-four hours if I don't indulge it," he says, "and I'll have to go to the hospital so they can keep an eye on my vitals, make sure I'm not getting dehydrated...it's a fucking hassle, and you know someone's going to leak it, and—Yuri, _please_." Slouching against the door like that, he has to look up at Yuri, and it makes his pleading expression that much more effective. "I've been through this before."

Yuri remembers; it still makes its appearance on social media every once in a while. The biggest story from the 2009 GPF: Viktor Nikiforov, hospitalized, because he'd hugged a fan without checking them over first. Lord, the press must have hounded him for it. It makes sense that he'd want to avoid that this time, but—

But what can Yuri do about that?

Wait. _If I don't indulge it_ , Viktor said.

"You don't want me to..." Yuri says, disbelieving. Viktor grimaces.

"That is what I'm asking, yes," he says.

He's being remarkably shameless about it, too, Yuri thinks, indignant. Shouldn't he at least be a bit apologetic? But then again, this is Viktor.

This is Viktor, who Yuri can't deny he wanted as soon as he understood what want was. But that was so _long_ ago, and Yuri's given up on that adolescent crush by now, hasn't he? How could he not, when so much has happened to change both of them since then?

Like Yuuri.

"What about Katsudon?" Yuri asks, and Viktor's face shutters.

"It'll be fine," he says, and Yuri doesn't believe him for one second.

"He'll be pissed," Yuri warns. "Or maybe not—you know how he is. Maybe he'll just be _hurt_." He keeps going, voice rising, even as Viktor's face darkens. "Maybe he'll just wonder whether you're tired of him now, and moved on to other people. Maybe he'll wonder if—"

"Shut your mouth," Viktor says, his voice low.

Yuri exhales, triumphant. "Maybe he'll wonder if you ever wanted him at all."

Viktor blinks at him, and then he smiles wide. "Wow!" he says, bright and cloying. "You really don't know him at all, do you?"

Yuri stares at him.

"He knows how I feel about him," Viktor says. "And besides, he'd want me to be safe." His expression firms, becomes determined. "He'll understand."

"So prove it," Yuri challenges. "Call him, right now."

Now it's Viktor's turn to stare at him. "What, are you crazy? It's morning in Japan, and he's skating in a couple hours. You think I'm going to distract him now, let him worry himself sick about something he can't even do anything about?"

"He'd want to know," Yuri says, but he falters.

Viktor sees the hesitation, and pounces. "He'd miss every single one of his jumps, Yuri. You don't want that, do you?"

Yuri doesn't, and Viktor knows it.

"We'll call him after," Yuri decides. "It'll take more than a few hours for this to run its course, so when he's done skating we'll..." He trails off, realizing that he's basically just agreed.

Viktor shuts his eyes, face naked with relief. "Thank you," he says. "I. I didn't want to be alone."

Fuck. Yuri hates Viktor, for having such an effect on him.

"Go take a shower," Yuri orders. "If you still have any pollen on you, I don't want it on me."

"Why not?" Viktor asks curiously, but he's already unbuttoning his shirt. Yuri averts his eyes, and then feels like an idiot, considering what they're about to do.

"I want to stay in control," Yuri answers. "One of us should be."

At 'control,' Viktor's mouth tightens. But then his expression is smooth again in a millisecond, and Yuri wonders if he imagined it. Viktor tilts his head at him. "That's smart."

Yuri glares. "Well you don't have to sound so surprised about it!"

Viktor laughs at him quietly before finishing taking his shirt off. He drops it on the floor and leaves it, heading toward the bathroom. A second later, the shower goes on. Yuri rolls his eyes and picks up the shirt, draping it over a chair. When Viktor's...normal, he usually cares more about his things. This way Yuri doesn't have to hear him bitching about it in the morning.

The room has paper cups, and Yuri fills two with water and sets them on the nightstand, along with the lube from his bag. He takes his own clothes off on autopilot, trying not to think too much, and goes to lie down on the bed. He considers getting under the covers and then rolls his eyes. Now would be a really ridiculous time to develop a sense of shame.

He only has to wait five minutes before he hears the water shut off. A couple minutes later, Viktor opens the door, a towel tied around his waist. He smiles, like nothing's wrong, but Yuri can see the flush on his face that can't just be chalked up to the shower. Viktor sways slightly as he walks across the room, and makes a face.

"Hot water probably wasn't a good idea," he says. "I feel like I'm burning up."

"No small talk," Yuri says stiffly. "Get over here."

Viktor laughs, clumsily undoing the knot of his towel but holding it in place around his hips. "Yura," he says, "you _could_ seduce me a little."

Yuri raises his eyebrows. "Why should I? You're the one who needs this, not me." It's a brazen lie, considering how Yuri's had to forcibly tear his eyes away from Viktor's bare chest not once but twice in the past minute. But Viktor doesn't seem to notice that, because his brow furrows.

"Fine," he says shortly, a swift about-face in his persona. Yuri bets this one is a lot closer to reality. Viktor takes a deep breath and then drops his towel, then climbs onto the bed before Yuri can catch more than a glimpse of his dick, blood red and leaking. It looks painful, and the way Viktor shudders when it brushes against the mattress confirms it. His arms buckle slightly, and he drops his head, exhaling sharply.

"Easy," Yuri says warily, and Viktor snaps his head up to glare.

" _I'm trying_ ," he says.

"Whoa—" Yuri holds up his hands, placating. "What's wrong?"

Viktor blinks, shakes his head. "Nothing," he says. "Sorry."

Yuri crosses his arms. "If you don't stop lying to me," he says, injecting steel into his voice, "I'm calling this off." It's a bluff; he won't actually, but Viktor doesn't know that.

It's a good bluff: Viktor's eyes widen, and he presses his lips tight together. Then he flops down flat on his stomach, and says—

Actually, Yuri can't understand it around the pillow Viktor's grumbling into. "What was that?"

"I _said_ ," Viktor says peevishly, lifting his head only as much as is necessary, "that I don't _like_ losing control."

Yuri laughs. "Yeah, you do."

"What?" Viktor sits up, finally looking him in the eye.

"Every time you flirt with Katsudon, you're basically trying to provoke him into bringing you to heel. You're never in control." Yuri smirks. "It's obvious to anyone with eyes."

"That's different," Viktor says, his voice flat.

"Why?" Yuri says wryly. "Because it's me?"

"It's different because I didn't lose anything. I _chose_ that," Viktor snaps. "I had no choice in this, and I don't like having control taken away from me."

Oh. That...makes sense.

"Sorry," Yuri says, softly.

"It's fine," Viktor says shortly, though clearly it isn't.

God, this is—this is why they haven't talked in a year. _This_ is why. They bring out the fucking worst in each other.

But Yuri can't walk away now, so he's got to fix it.

"What if..." Viktor looks at him warily, and Yuri fidgets under his gaze, stops, restarts. "You like giving up control, so long as it's your choice, right?"

"...yes," Viktor says slowly.

"So choose," Yuri says. "Give it up. For me."

Viktor straightens, sitting on his heels. "To _you_." He smiles, a little sardonic. "You're serious?"

Yuri scoffs. "What, you don't think I can handle you?"

Viktor's eyes widen briefly, and his mouth parts. "I, uh," he says. He's very still, except for how his hands twist in each other's grasp on his lap. "I guess I never thought you'd—ah."

Now it's Yuri's turn to smile, crooked. "You never thought I'd want it? Really?"

Viktor shrugs. "I guess."

_That means he's thought about it_ , Yuri realizes, mouth going dry. Okay. Okay, he can do this. "Viktor," he says flatly. "I've been wanting to see you on your knees since—oh, since I was fifteen?"

Viktor swallows, his dick twitching visibly. But he's good at feigning restraint, and his voice only wavers a little when he says, "I suppose I—could be open to that."

Good enough.

"Okay," Yuri says, and surges forward, tackling Viktor to the mattress. Viktor, caught-off-guard, lands wide-eyed on his back, the breath knocked out of him.

"Yura," he starts, "what—"

"We should probably talk more," Yuri says. "That'd be the smart thing to do. But I don't think you're really in the right frame of mind right now."

Viktor narrows his eyes, propping himself up on one elbow. "Excuse me," he says indignantly, "I am perfectly in—"

"So this one's just to take the edge off," Yuri says, ignoring him. He wraps a hand around Viktor's dick and jerks him off without preamble. Viktor's breath hitches, and then he moans, his elbow slipping out from under him. Yuri presses the advantage and pins Viktor with his free hand to Viktor's shoulder, leaning all his weight on it; Viktor can take it.

"Wait," Viktor says, squirming in Yuri's grasp like a caught fish. "Wait, I don't—"

"Do you want me to stop?" Yuri asks coolly, raising an eyebrow, in a move he'll never admit he pilfered right from Viktor's repertoire. He doesn't still his hand.

Viktor tosses his head back. "No," he gasps, "no, don't stop, just, _slow down_."

"Mm," Yuri says thoughtfully, stilling for a moment. Viktor whines through his teeth and jerks ineffectively, his body straining for friction again, for release. The muscles in his thighs, his abdomen, go tight and defined with the effort, and Yuri leans his weight onto him harder. Viktor is so powerful, and keeping him restrained is the headiest rush Yuri has ever felt. "Slow down? I don't think so," Yuri says, and tightens his grip around the base of Viktor's cock, stroking firmly upward.

Viktor cries out sharply as he comes, his head tossing back against the sheets. "Oh, oh," he pants, and Yuri grins victoriously. Viktor stays hard even after, so Yuri shrugs and keeps stroking him past his orgasm, even though Viktor is whining and squirming from oversensitivity.

"If it hurts, I'll stop," Yuri says.

"It does, a little," Viktor says, looking at Yuri from under damp lashes, "but. Don't stop?"

Yuri nods, smirks, and keeps jerking him off while Viktor arches up and thrashes like he doesn't know whether he wants to get away or get closer.

"Please, please," Viktor gasps, and Yuri raises his eyebrows.

"Already?"

Viktor glares at him weakly, and looks like he's going to snipe back, so Yuri tightens his grip. Sure enough, Viktor loses all his words, and Yuri laughs. "If I'd known it would be this easy to make you shut up," he says, "I'd have done this a long time ago." But it doesn't sound like Viktor's listening. His eyes are closed, his mouth parted, and his body is stretched tense and taut, like a bowstring waiting to be released.

"Please," he says again. He's so wet now after coming that the slide of Yuri's hand around him is frictionless, just pressure and heat. Yuri switches to his left hand, using his right to reach down and trace around Viktor's hole with come-slick fingers. Viktor's eyes snap open. "Oh, god, Yura—"

"Yeah, that's it," Yuri says nonsensically, pressing in with one finger. The breath rushes out of Viktor and he clenches tight around Yuri, his cock kicking pre-come against his stomach. But then he relaxes almost immediately, like his body knows this is what it needs, and is doing everything it can to make it happen. "You want this," Yuri presses, putting in another finger, and Viktor trembles, his face twisted with pleasure.

"I need it," he moans, and Yuri's cock throbs with sympathy. He pulls his hand off Viktor's cock—ignoring the wounded, wanting noise Viktor makes in response—to touch his own, sighing with relief when he gets his hand around it.

Viktor wets his lips, silently watching with blown pupils as Yuri strokes himself. Waiting.

"You want me to fuck you?" Yuri goads, because he knows, he _knows_ now that Viktor needs this as much as he does, even if it's just the pollen for him.

Viktor nods.

Yuri smiles. "Too bad. Not yet." Viktor shuts his eyes, pained, but doesn't seem to have the capacity for complaint; Yuri realizes he's unconsciously slowed his pace, has been languidly stretching Viktor with two fingers for the past minute, and Viktor hasn't said a thing about it.

That deserves a reward, Yuri decides, and picks up the pace until he's really fucking Viktor, the muscles in his forearms tense with exertion. He adds a third finger, and _that_ makes Viktor cry out, high and sincere, coming again without Yuri touching his cock.

"There you are," Yuri breathes, and starts jerking himself off in earnest. It doesn't take much: just the knowledge of who he's in bed with, the heavy weight of Viktor's dark gaze on him, is enough for Yuri to come, gasping. His come splatters across Viktor's thighs, and Yuri exhales, satisfied.

He falls onto his back on the mattress next to Viktor, staring up at the ceiling as he catches his breath.

"I'm still hard," Viktor mutters petulantly, his voice scratchy.

"You can wait a little," Yuri says, rolling his eyes. He takes one of the cups of water from the nightstand and gulps it down. "I don't have your husband's stamina, do I."

Viktor laughs, accepting the other cup gratefully when Yuri offers. "You're a natural at the rest of it though."

"I've had practice," Yuri corrects casually, and has the pleasure of watching Viktor clench his jaw, tight. He crumples up both cups and tosses them onto the floor.

"Hey," Yuri says archly, pushing his sweaty hair back from his face. "You're not even going to congratulate me on my gold?" He's feeling a little more open to small talk now; he blames post-sex endorphins.

Viktor turns his head to stare at him, still breathing a little hard. "I'm sorry, what?"

"In case you didn't notice," Yuri says, "I won a national championship today."

A moment passes, and then Viktor smiles at him, but it's...missing something. "Congratulations, Yura."

Yuri sits back up, crossing his arms. "Okay, what's wrong?"

"What?" Viktor looks away.

"Wow." Yuri huffs. "Was I that bad?"

"Yuri," Viktor says snottily, slow-blinking up at Yuri, "in case you hadn't noticed, I'm kind of distracted right now." He arches his hips a little for show, which is how Yuri knows that he's actually fine.

"Stop making excuses," Yuri snaps. "I know retirement's made you weak, but try to show a little self-control."

Viktor rolls his eyes heavenward, but settles down.

"Talk, Nikiforov," Yuri orders.

Viktor shrugs one shoulder. "I don't know what you want me to say." He smiles sardonically. "You were beautiful, Yura, as always."

"I'm sensing a 'but'," Yuri prompts, and Viktor's mouth goes tight.

"Look," he says irritably, "it isn't your fault your choreographer clearly doesn't understand what you need. It didn't capture your full potential."

Yuri's mouth drops open. His choreographer? Does Viktor...not know? "Viktor—"

"You asked, Yura," Viktor says, bright and fake. "Don't blame me for obliging."

Yuri should probably tell him. But first he wants to know, "Why does it bother you so much?"

Viktor looks away, his breath coming a little faster. "I don't know what you're—"

"You do," Yuri insists. "You hate that I turned you down. Is it just pride? Are you really _that_ vain?"

"What? No, it's not that," Viktor says. "It's—never mind, it, it doesn't matter."

"Are you jealous?" Yuri wonders aloud. "Is that it?"

Viktor still isn't looking at him, but he's gone stiff. His cheeks are flushed, and Yuri wonders if it's anger or embarrassment or the sex pollen making itself known again.

"That's it," Yuri says with something akin to wonder. "Wow. I didn't think you actually cared that much."

Viktor looks at him with disbelief and—yeah, that's anger. "Are you serious?"

"What?" Yuri asks. "I just don't see why it would _matter_."

"It matters because you're _mine_ ," Viktor snarls.

Yuri stills.

Viktor's eyes go wide, the whites of them flashing in the half-lit room. His dick is leaking again, Yuri realizes.

"I shouldn't have said that," Viktor says numbly. "I'm so stupid, I shouldn't have—"

Yuri should have noticed earlier, how fiery Viktor's temper was, the way it never is. But he'd been too caught up in it to see. The realization sits heavy in his stomach, making him mute.

"I'm sorry, Yura," Viktor continues, and he sounds miserable. "I'll go if you want. I never intended to do this."

" _Vitya_ ," Yuri says, finally finding his words. "I choreographed it."

Viktor blinks. "What?"

It's so ridiculous that Yuri can't help but laugh, and before he knows it, he's doubled over with laughter. "You idiot," he says. "You complete fucking idiot, it had to have been mentioned like, twenty times today alone, if you'd been paying _any_ attention at _all_ —"

"I was trying not to be overbearing," Viktor says faintly, and Yuri snorts.

"Well you've definitely succeeded with that," he says sarcastically, lowering himself down onto the bed until he's facing Viktor's dick.

"Wait," Viktor says blankly, still staring up at the ceiling, oblivious to his surroundings. "So you're saying I've been jealous _all this time_ for nothing?"

Yuri smirks up at him, and wordlessly sucks his cock down.

Viktor yells, his hips jerking up against Yuri's hands, which are there and ready to hold him down. Yuri concentrates, working Viktor's cock into his mouth until he feels the head nudge his throat, before pulling all the way off.

"Yes," he answers, in response to Viktor's question. He wavers, and then adds, "Tell me whether I need to be worried about you and Yuuri. Because if you hurt him, I swear to god—"

"Yuuri's fine," Viktor pants, his eyes shut tight. "He—he's going to be mad I did this without him, we were supposed to—we had a _plan_."

Yuri's eyes widen, and he pushes up on his elbows so he can see Viktor's face clearly. "Is that why you're here and not in Japan?"

"I told you," Viktor says. "I came to see you."

"I thought you were—"

"Joking, I know." Viktor half-opens his eyes to look at Yuri. "I wasn't." His voice is steady, despite the flush on his face and the tense, quivering muscles of his thighs. "I was supposed to convince you to come back to Hasetsu after this, and we'd talk."

"Talk?" Yuri asks. "About..."

"About _this_ ," Viktor says, gesturing between them. "We want you."

Yuri stares at him. "You—you both—"

"Yuuri's going to be _so mad_ he wasn't here," Viktor groans putting one hand over his eyes. "He wanted to be the first to kiss you."

Yuri swallows. "Actually," he says, unsteadily, "we haven't kissed yet."

Viktor puts his hand down and stares at him. "Fuck," he says eloquently, and then makes an enthusiastic grabbing motion with his hands. "Come here," he says, "Yura, please, let me—"

"Yeah, yeah," Yuri says breathlessly, tucking his hair behind his ear and leaning down until his nose brushes Viktor's. "Shut up, old man, I'm right here."

Viktor makes a wordless noise and grabs Yuri by the back of the neck, pulling him down to meet his lips. His mouth is wet, his breath hotter than it should be, and he tastes inexplicably, impossibly sweet. It's probably the pollen, but Yuri could just as easily imagine it being Viktor himself.

"There," Yuri breathes when he pulls back. "Now Katsudon can be as mad as he likes."

"You'd probably just enjoy it," Viktor says easily, and bites his lip around a laugh when Yuri blushes.

"Shut up," he huffs, and then fumbles for his phone on the nightstand. "What time is it?" He waits for it to turn on, and after glancing at the clock, "They're probably almost done."

Viktor swallows, his eyes dark and wanting. "So?" he challenges.

Yuri quells him with a glance, opens up Yuuri's contact, and hits call.

It rings twice, and then picks up. "Hello?"

He vaguely recognizes but can't quite place the voice on the other end that asks, in English, "Hello, who is this?"

"Yuri Plisetsky," Yuri says flatly. "Who's this, and why are you answering Katsudon's phone?"

"Minami Kenjirou!" the voice on the other end says brightly. "He's giving an interview before the medal ceremony."

Yuri chews on his lip absently. Viktor's looking up at him, expectant. "Give him the phone."

"Wh-what?" Minami says. "I just said, he's—"

"I don't give a shit," Yuri growls. "It's an emergency, give him the damn phone."

There's a pause, some rustling, a thump, and then, "Yurio?"

Yuri exhales, something raw inside of him soothed by the sound of Yuuri's voice. "Katsudon."

"What's wrong?" Yuuri asks anxiously. "Minami-kun said—"

"Your husband got himself sex-pollened," Yuri says bluntly, and Viktor huffs, embarrassed all over again.

"...at five in the morning?" Yuuri says faintly, and Yuri can't help but laugh.

"This evening," he says. "It must have been a slow-acting variant, he came and found me about—" He trades a glance with Viktor and then says, "A couple hours ago."

"Is he okay?" Yuuri asks urgently. "Did you take him to the hospital? Why didn't you call me?"

Yuri sighs. "He told me not to. He asked me to..." He trails off, clears his throat in sudden nervousness. "He, um."

Viktor stares up at him, mouth parted slightly. Yuuri waits on the other line but Yuri—Yuri doesn't know how to say it.

Finally, Yuuri says, "Yuri. Give Vitya the phone, will you?" His voice is calm as still water, and Yuri shivers. "Or better, put it on speaker."

Wordlessly, Yuri does as he asks.

Viktor wets his lips and then says, quietly, "Yuuri." Yuri looks at him from an outsider's perspective and catalogues (the way he knows Yuuri must be) how his voice is a little too high, how it breaks in the middle of Yuuri's name.

"You were supposed to wait, Viktor," Yuuri says, his voice dangerously smooth, and Yuri watches in fascination as Viktor bites his lip, his cock jerking very slightly.

"Ah," he exhales, arching his hips minutely before he gets them under control. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to."

"I know," Yuuri soothes. "It's okay. How are you feeling?"

"Good," Viktor says. "Yura's been taking good care of me," he adds slyly, and Yuri rewards him by putting two fingers back into him.

The noise Viktor makes in response is too sharp, too loud—Yuuri inhales audibly over the phone and says in an undertone, "I'm in public, Vitya."

Viktor bites his lip, coy even though he knows Yuuri can't see him. "No one but you can hear me," he counters.

"You don't think they'll know, looking at my face?" Yuuri retorts, and Viktor bites his lip again, this time to hide the noise he makes. Yuri narrows his eyes and rubs over his prostate, a fierce, foolish sort of competitiveness lighting him up from within. Viktor keens, teeth gritted, his hand snapping out to clutch at Yuri's forearm.

"Yura," he gasps, "Yura, please."

Yuuri curses quietly, and Yuri feels a jolt of satisfaction at managing to pull out the reaction. "Hold on," Yuuri says. "I'll be right back, wait for me."

Viktor throws his arm over his face, trying in vain to hide from his own desperation. He's flushed all the way down to his chest right now, a beautiful, splotchy red that Yuri wants to taste, but he—he can't, because he's waiting. They're both waiting, in stasis, for Yuuri to return and tell them how to move again.

"I didn't even ask," Viktor rasps, and Yuri makes a questioning noise in the back of his throat. "I didn't even ask how it went."

"I'm pretty sure he'll understand," Yuri says dryly, his fingers quirking unconsciously inside of Viktor.

"I'm sure he was perfect," Viktor says, almost dreamily, and Yuri rolls his eyes.

"Focus," he says, and pulls his fingers out.

Viktor squirms in protest, then forces himself still, panting. "Why won't you fuck me, Yura?" he whines.

It's a swift change in topic, and Yuri blinks, taken aback. He opens his mouth to say—he doesn't know what, exactly. It's good, then, that that's the moment Yuuri chooses to come back on the line.

"There," he's saying, a little breathless, when he comes back on. Yuri can hear the sounds of him walking."I told them I had a family emergency, and I can't attend the medal ceremony."

"You what?" Viktor asks, his desperation forgotten in the moment. "But Yuuri, you—"

"It's fine," Yuuri dismisses. "This is more important. Besides, it's not like they'll take the gold away from me."

"Gold, hmm?" Viktor repeats, and shares a smile that Yuri finds himself returning.

"Oh," Yuuri says, and then continues a little shyly, "Oh, um. Yes."

"I'm glad," Viktor says, still smiling. "And you really aren't mad about missing the ceremony?"

"No," Yuuri says. "You're not—you're not mad that I'm not there, are you? I know it was my idea to send you alone—"

Yuri isn't sure what to do with that information, so he says sharply, "Do you two ever shut up?"

Viktor stares at him, mouth half-open, before grinning. "You'd think I'd be the impatient one," he says.

"You are," Yuri says coolly. "Or did I imagine you begging for my cock just a second ago?"

Viktor makes a face. "I wasn't—"

" _Yura, please_ ," Yuri imitates breathily, " _why won't you fuck me, Yura_?"

Yuuri makes an interested noise, amid the sound of elevators dinging. "You haven't yet?"

Yuri flushes. "No."

"Good," Yuuri says, and Viktor squawks unattractively while Yuri laughs, shocked. "He likes it when you make him wait."

"But I've been _drugged_ ," Viktor pouts, kicking Yuri in the thigh. "Won't you take some pity on me, solnyshko?"

Yuri stays silent, waiting, until Yuuri says, "I think he's talking to you."

Yuri swallows, his throat abruptly dry and aching. "Tell me," he says unsteadily. "Yuuri, tell me."

He can _feel_ the warmth in Yuuri's voice when he says, "It's okay, Yurio. Just listen to me, okay?"

Yuri nods, and then wants to smack himself. "Yes."

The elevator dings again, and Yuri hears the footsteps resume. "Is he stretched enough?"

" _Yes_ ," Viktor groans hiding his face again. "I've been ready for an hour, fucking—"

"I wasn't asking you," Yuuri says sternly, and Viktor tenses up, before going boneless against the bed.

"He's fine," Yuri says hoarsely.

"Slick yourself up," Yuuri says, his voice low. Yuri wonders if he's worried people will overhear, and the thought that they might fills him with sudden heat. Shy, closed-off Katsuki Yuuri, dirty-talking in the middle of a hotel hallway, because of Yuri.

Yuri swallows, grabbing the lube again and pouring a little too much onto his palm. He wraps his hand around himself and pumps once, twice, unable to stop himself from letting out a tiny, sharp, " _Ah—_ "

"That's good," Yuuri says, his voice a little breathier. "That's so good, Yura."

Yuri shivers, another moan punched out of him. "Please," he says, and doesn't know what he's asking for.

"All right," Yuuri soothes. "Put your cock in him, just a little."

Yuri holds himself with one hand and braces the other on Viktor's hip when he enters him, only until just past the head. "Okay," he says, and then loses his words at the way Viktor clenches around him, desperate.

"Oh, god," Viktor moans, his entire body arching up like a plucked string, vibrating.

"Don't let him take you in any deeper," Yuuri says quickly, and Yuri scrambles to hold Viktor down, cursing as Viktor tries to buck out of his grasp.

"No," he begs, "Yura, please, _please_."

"Wait, Yuri," Yuuri says, steely, and Yuri shakes under the onslaught on both sides, but he waits. He waits, breaths coming harsh and fast, until Viktor stops trying to fuck himself onto Yuri's cock. Viktor tosses his head to the side, his eyes falling shut and forcing the tears beading on his lashes out onto his cheeks. Yuri takes one hand off Viktor's hips, and Viktor whimpers but doesn't move, not even when Yuri brushes over his wet cheekbone with his thumb.

"He's crying," Yuri says in disbelief, and Yuuri makes a sharp noise of want that rattles Yuri to his core. His abs ache with the effort it takes to restrain himself from just fucking _in_.

"You can go in all the way," Yuuri says, "but slow."

Yuri exhales, slow, as he pushes in, holding his breath until his balls hit Viktor's ass. Viktor moans in naked relief, wrapping his legs around Yuri like now that he's got him, he won't let him go. "Move," he pleads, and Yuri begs, "Yuuri—"

And Yuuri says, " _Yes_."

Yuri grits his teeth and pulls halfway out before pushing back in, picking up the pace because he can't help himself, especially not with Viktor twisting underneath him, his body covered in a slick sheen of sweat. He's incoherent at this point, words abandoned in favor of loud, desperate noises.

It's okay though, because a second later Yuuri orders, "Go faster," and over the phone they can hear the wet, skin-on-skin sound of him getting himself off. Yuri curses and pulls out all the way before slamming back in, Viktor jerking like he's been shocked.

It only takes one touch to his cock to set Viktor off, straining upward so hard Yuri's afraid his spine will break. His come hits Yuri on the chest, the heat of it making Yuri groan, his hips snapping forward. His arms shake trying to hold himself up, and when Viktor wraps his arms around his shoulders, Yuri caves and falls on top of him. Chest to chest, Yuri feels small and vulnerable again, and he quakes with something between fear and awe.

"I can't," he chokes out, emotion closing his throat, making his eyes burn. "Vitya, I can't."

"Shh," Viktor soothes, pulling him closer and arching up to meet his next thrust. "I know," he says, and Yuri tucks his head into Viktor’s neck and _sobs_.

"Come on, Yura," Yuuri says, his voice low. Yuri can almost feel him, imagines him behind him, ready with a steadying touch, a comforting kiss. God, he needs it so much.

"I _can't_ ," Yuri says, because he feels like something's holding him back. Like something's been bottled up in him so long, it doesn't know how to release.

"You can," Yuuri coaxes. "You have to."

Yuri pulls back, shaking his head. "But I don't want to be—" _Done_. He doesn't want it to be over.

Because Viktor's dick is softening, finally; the sheer, unfathomable need is fading from his eyes. In its wake is the softest, warmest expression Yuri's ever seen on his face, except for maybe at his wedding.

"Did you think we'd be done?" he asks, softly. Yuri doesn't answer.

"No, no," Yuuri says in a rush. "No, Yuri, we're not—how could we be done? We have so many things to talk about, I. I haven't even _touched_ you yet."

Yuri's eyes widen, and his hips jerk, arrhythmic.

Viktor rolls his hips up into it, luxuriant. "That's it," he says, kissing the corner of Yuri's mouth. "Come on, Yura, come for us. Please?"

Yuri shakes his head again, wordless, helpless, everything in him rising to the surface and—

—spilling over, his voice breaking on a moan. Viktor kisses him, swallows the sound, his hands stroking through Yuri's hair. On the other end of the phone, they hear Yuuri coming, calling out their names, and it makes Yuri spiral higher, brighter, blinding. His vision goes white.

"Oh," Viktor says, when he pulls back, with shocked pleasure. "I can feel you." He squirms against Yuri once, and then sighs, satiated.

Yuri chokes on a groan, dropping his heavy head onto Viktor's chest. They're sticky, sweat and come cooling on their skin, and Yuri shivers when he pulls out of the clutch of Viktor's body. "It's over, then," he says. Viktor narrows his eyes at him, displeased, and Yuri rushes to add, "The sex pollen, I mean. It's out of your system?"

"Yes," Viktor allows. "But we're just getting started, Yura."

"Viktor might have screwed up our plan a little," Yuuri says, and Viktor pouts but doesn't disagree, "but it doesn't matter. We still want you. If—" He falters. "If you want us."

Yuri hesitates, and Viktor grabs at his arms, pleading. "Come back to Hasetsu with me," he urges.

"I have to train." Yuri shakes his head. "There's Europeans, and then Worlds, I—I can't. I have to go back to St. Petersburg."

"You could come for just a couple of days," Viktor insists. "Yakov will get it."

"It's not like you haven't done it before," Yuuri adds, and he's right; Yuri took more time than that off, that first time he followed Viktor to Japan.

"Come on," Viktor coaxes. "Give us a chance?"

It's too much. They're _too much_.

" _Why_?" Yuri asks, his voice cracking, even though he wants nothing more than to say _yes_. Even though he already knows he's going to. "Why do you want—" _me_ "—this?"

Yuuri and Viktor both fall silent. Slowly, Viktor smiles up at Yuri, sharp and dark-eyed.

"I told you," he says warmly. "It's because you're mine."

**Author's Note:**

> find me on twitter as @peakcaps and tumblr as @pageleaf!


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